Life Was Fleeting (Then I Found You)
by cluelessclown
Summary: When Sybil finds Larry in bed with one of her colleagues from work, she decides to go back to Downton for a few days to set her mind straight about what she wants to do with her life. That is, until she bumps into a certain Irishman who asks all the right questions and makes her consider the possibility of living her life just the way she wants to. Modern AU, two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

"Syb, I really do need you to stop moping around if you're gonna stay here any longer."

"Thomas, I don't do _moping_."

"Well, wouldn't you call eating Ben & Jerry and watching period dramas for a living doing _a bit _of moping?"

Sybil tossed a pillow at her friend, who only chuckled and dodged it. She had been staying at his little Brixton flat for a couple of days now — it wasn't a permanent thing, mind you, but she had nowhere else to go. At least not without explaining what had happened with Larry. Thomas had been her snarky, quiet best friend ever since his mother went into service after her husband's untimely death and took little Thomas with her to work at Downton, the magnificent countryside estate where Sybil and her older sisters had grown up. The two of them had clicked immediately — Thomas was quiet and tenacious, whereas Sybil was a brighter, more extroverted sort of girl, but they shared a love for books, tea, and politically involved young men and bonded immensely throughout their childhood and, most importantly, their teenage years — Sybil was the first person that Thomas came out to, both a little too drunk on Lord Grantham's Scottish whiskey, and he was the first one to find out after Sybil and Larry got together, only a little before graduating from university. They had stayed in touch even after Thomas moved to London and met the blond-haired barista that he was now dating, and he was the first person she thought of when she stormed out of the flat she had shared with Larry, after finding him in bed with one of her fellow nurses.

Thomas took a seat next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I do think you should tell your sisters about it, though," he suggested, in his usual quiet tone. Mary had called him _monotonous_ while growing up, but Sybil liked the way his voice never inflected in its tone unless he was feeling a very strong emotion. "After all, they do live in the city, and I suppose being with your nieces and nephew would be nicer than crashing on my sofa."

"Your sofa's nice enough, Thomas," Sybil half-joked, a faint smile on her cheeks. She then shrugged and awkwardly cast her eyes down to the ground. "It's just that — well, I don't know. I suppose I'm going to have to tell them eventually, yes. But they're — they're all _grown up_, Thomas. Edith has got beautiful little Marigold, and she's seeing this journalist that she's met at work and who's very possibly the nicest man on Earth. Mary and Matthew — their life is so complete, they've kids and everything, and they live in this gorgeous apartment near Canary Wharf. How could I ever show up over there and explain to them that my entire adulthood has been built up on a lie?"

"That's a bit dramatic, Syb. You studied Nursing, and you're one helluva good one. You've got a steady job; you could manage on your own if you wanted to. S'not like me and Jimmy — I'm practically begging him to move in just so that we can split the rent." He chuckled. That was Thomas Barrow at his finest — always trying to mask up the fact that there was nothing else he longed for more than to build a life of his own with the man that he had fallen in love with. "Besides, I know Mary can be a little judgemental, but that Matthew bloke sounds understanding enough. And Edith's got a heart of gold, you know that."

"I do. I really do," Sybil sighed, pressing the palms of her hands against her cheeks. She couldn't believe she was twenty-five and feeling just as lost as she did when she was nineteen and struggled to tell her parents about wanting to switch from her Medicine degree in Cambridge to a Nursing one at the University of York. "I just feel like I'm the odd one out. I've always been, in a way — Mary with her brilliant career in Economics, Edith with her writing skills and how she's managed to take care of a little girl and the newspaper all on her own . . . I really do love them, Thomas, but I wish I could feel a little less overwhelmed by all their achievements."

Thomas's lips twitched into a sad smile. "There's no need to belittle yourself, though. If facing them is too much right now — why don't you just go back to your parents' at Downton? Take a few days off work and just relax for a bit. I could lend you this absolutely amazing book by Paul Auster that I only just finished reading."

"That does sound like a good idea," Sybil nodded with a faint smile. She then glanced up at Thomas and pressed a kiss to his cheek, which made her friend scrunch is nose in feign annoyance. "You're such a _bold_ human being, Thomas Barrow."

In spite of his stoic nature, Thomas did a half-smile and shrugged. "You and Jimmy are my weak spots, I s'pose."

"That's actually so flattering," she giggled against his shoulder. Thomas was usually one to avoid physical contact with other people unless they were extremely important to him, so the fact that he allowed her so close to him, his arms around her shoulders as she rested her head on his chest, almost felt like a privilege. "You really are the best, Tomtom."

"Whoa, you haven't called me that in years." Thomas chuckled, but squeezed her shoulder ever so gently. "Thank you, Sybsyb."

She would go home, she decided then. She would go home, tell her parents all about Larry and how she had never really thought they'd end up together because, even though Mary usually acted very stoic about her relationship with Matthew, she knew that she had never felt half as bubbly and as giddy as her older sister did when the boy she had brought over for Christmas as a friend from university had kissed her at the front door just as the New Year chimed in, or when she had announced to her two younger sisters that he had proposed to her on a brief holiday that they'd spent in Athens. Her relationship with Larry had been a far more consequential one — she knew him from school and a group of common friends had pushed them together, but she had never felt a true connection to him. He was careless about politics — which annoyed Sybil to no end — and even thought that the way she declared herself a fierce feminist was _a bit too much at times_, which had caused more than a row or two between them. Still, Sybil had stayed with him — because he was the only serious relationship that she had ever had, and because deep down she did know that it was what her parents expected of her. To marry a well-off boy, have a couple of kids, relax and be happy instead of working twelve-hour shifts at some NHC-funded hospital in London where the _commoners_ went to get their free healthcare, and where the pay would never be worth all the trouble. The least she could do was to please them in that sense, but she had eventually failed at that too. Perhaps if she hadn't wandered off to explore London on her own that often, or if she had toned down during one of their fights . . .

No, she decided, she hadn't done anything wrong. If anything, the only mistake she could have possibly made was thinking that a relationship between Larry and her could work in the long run.

···

Sybil couldn't help but smile when she first stepped onto the platform, allowing herself to breathe in the fresh air that surrounded her as she walked down the streets of Ripon, the town that she had gotten to know so well during the early years of her life. Even though they lived in a country estate and didn't visit the town on a daily basis, Sybil had always loved going there, whether it be with her mother and sisters on a sunny Saturday afternoon or while helping Mrs Patmore, their cook, whenever she needed a hand carrying the groceries back to Downton. Even though her father had never been all too keen on the idea, Sybil tended to spend a lot of her free time downstairs, with the staff that worked for her family — she played with Thomas as his mother sewed one of Lady Grantham's dresses, listened to the old chauffeur's stories about the town he came from in Southern Ireland, and helped Mrs Patmore and her young daughter, Daisy, whenever she could, with poor old Carson, the house butler, insisting on her going upstairs to the library, where her sisters were enjoying a good cup of hot chocolate and watching some telly before dinner. But the truth was that Sybil felt at ease when she was downstairs — sometimes even more so than she did upstairs, surrounded by her father's rich friends and her sisters' increasingly obnoxious acquaintances from Cambridge.

She stopped by the local pub and peered through the window, smiling when she recognized the old man who had been its owner ever since she was a little girl. She observed the few people who were wandering around the place at that time — a couple of men on their early fifties who were already downing the first beer of the day, their bodies a little too chubby and their hairline receding in an almost threatening manner. A younger woman sat by the window, focused on a pile of papers and a laptop — a Graduate student at the University of Leeds or York who was visiting her parents for the weekend, probably.

"Everything looks so peaceful, don't it?"

Sybil frowned and wheeled around to find a tall, broad-shouldered young man standing behind her, a rather amused smile on her face. She wasn't exactly fond of men approaching women in the middle of the street, but it was undeniable that he looked like a rather inoffensive one, his face round and his big blue eyes eyeing her curiously. Still, she shrugged her shoulders and clutched her bag protectively.

"All right, sorry," his hands rose up in a defensive gesture. She couldn't help but notice that he also happened to brand a very Irish accent. "Should've thought that would come off as a little creepy. You're free to go, miss."

Sybil couldn't help but laugh a little at that. "No, it's . . . it's okay. I forget that country people tend to strike up the most random conversations in the middle of the street."

The man clicked his tongue and shook his head a little. "Country people? Nah, I wish. I'm a city boy, missus — born and raised in Dublin, you see. I live in London now, but I've been sent here for the weekend."

"How come?" Her eyebrows rose curiously, the grip on her bag relaxing little by little. "I was born here, you know."

"Really? You definitely don't strike me as a country girl." The man chuckled ever so lightly, and then shrugged. "I'm a journalist, and I've been sent here to interview this Earl of Grantham bloke, who has apparently just donated a ton of money to some refugee camp in Greece. Can you believe it? These aristocrats were the ones who ruined Asia and Africa to begin with, and all their wealth comes from exploiting the natives — and _now _they're trying to come clean by donating a ridiculous part of all that blood-stained money just so that some prick in my office would send me here and interview him. Sound and fury, that's all they want."

Sybil felt how her cheeks reddened. She hadn't heard any news from her parents about them donating part of their estate to a charity — she momentarily felt how a certain sense of pride bubbled inside her chest, only to be flattened out by the young man's spiteful approach to the reason behind her father's donations. And, because of that, she couldn't help but retort in reply.

"Well, at least they're doing _something_ about it, aren't they?" She replied, albeit a little coldly. "I mean, I totally get your point, but — but Hell, they could have just kept it for themselves and buy some farm in the middle of the countryside instead of donating it. People aren't _born_ good or bad just because of their social status, you know."

The man's eyebrows rose. He couldn't have imagined that he was talking to one of Lord Grantham's daughters, obviously — Sybil was wearing a flowered blouse and tattered shorts, her sneakers still bearing little drops of mud from the last time she and her sisters went to Glastonbury Festival together, and she had always been told that she had never looked like the daughter of an earl. She had always taken a certain pride to the idea, because she had never wanted to stand out because of her family's aristocratic origins, but she also felt extremely loyal towards those parents who had given her nothing but kindness and love over the course of the years.

"You English people have always revered your aristocrats, haven't you?" He laughed finally, shrugging the matter off with a smile. A certainly handsome one, Sybil noted. "Anyway, I'm supposed to go up to the chap's estate in a bit, so I guess I should get going. Will you be staying here?"

Sybil blinked several times, then shook her head a little. Shit, he was going to _her_ family's house. "Uh, no. My parents live right outside the town, so . . . yeah, I'm staying there."

"That's a shame," the man said, a sheepish smile on his face. Why couldn't she just _tell _him? "I — well, I'll be here till Monday morning. Perhaps we could get a beer here sometime?"

"Oh . . . sure?" Sybil nodded, feeling a little dumbfounded by the course of the events. "I — I could come back later tonight, I suppose."

"Sounds great. I'll tell you all about my interview then!" The man beamed, then added, "I'm Tom, by the way."

"Sybil," she said, a softer expression on her face. She shook Tom's hand and then nodded towards the pub, trying not to seem too obvious. "I — I think I'm going to have a bite before heading home, it's been a long journey."

"Sure! I'll leave you to it." Tom beamed yet again, and Sybil felt how a rather bubbly feeling burst inside her stomach when he looked at her that way. "Nice to meet you, Sybil."

"Nice to meet you, Tom."

···

She decided to stay in Ripon for a couple of hours, then sneak into the house through the kitchen door and say hello to Mrs Patmore and Daisy before heading off to see her parents. It would be a nice surprise, she gathered, although deep down all she wanted was to avoid Tom. Not because she hadn't liked him — quite the contrary — but simply because she would feel too embarrassed if he caught her sneaking into her own home. And she _was_ looking forward to that little meet-up at the pub later that night, after all.

Downton still looked just as majestic as ever. She knew that her Papa had grown up there, too, the son of a wealthy earl who had earned himself a reputation for having fought in both World Wars, and the heiress to the earldom, who was none other than Sybil's Granny Violet and lived in a tiny cottage next to their house. She smiled when she saw Daisy picking up a few boxes from the kitchen entrance, and waved at her when the girl noticed her presence.

"Sybil!" Daisy was a few years younger than her and Thomas, but had also grown in the house, so had always been like a little sister to her. "I didn't know you were coming!"

"Neither did I," Sybil confessed, a rueful smile on her face. When Daisy left the box on the ground, the younger girl enveloped her in a warm hug. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine, really," Daisy said in her usual rushed tone. "Been gettin' ready for my A-Levels and whatnot. I wanna study in Leeds next year, so that I can come back every other weekend and help Mam with the kitchen."

"You know you really don't have to do that, right?" Sybil replied. When Daisy shrugged, she just rubbed the eighteen-year-old's back and smiled. "Mrs Patmore's lucky to have you, honestly."

"So why are you here? Where's Larry? Have you seen Thomas lately? He came over a couple of months ago, but the only info I'm getting on him is by stalking his boyfriend's Instagram account. He's really pretty, isn't he? Saw they went to Florence a few months ago?"

"All right, all right," Sybil said, shaking her head at the amount of questions that the younger girl was tossing at her. "First off, Thomas's fine. Better than ever, actually. He and Jimmy are _really_ smitten. I've stayed at his flat for a couple of days, and the fellow came over for dinner on Tuesday or Wednesday. Real cute, brought wine and everything." After snorting at the dreamy expression in Daisy's eyes, Sybil added, "And, about Larry . . . well, we're not together anymore, I'm afraid."

Daisy was visibly taken aback by her words. After all, the girl had been ten or eleven when the two of them had gotten together, and he was the only boyfriend that her parents and the staff at Downton had ever heard of — mainly because he _was_ the only boy she had been involved with, at least in a serious way.

"What? I'm so sorry, Syb," Daisy said. "I . . . are you all right? D'you need to stay here?"

"Oh, no, don't worry," Sybil said, shrugging her shoulders. For once, she didn't feel as though her stomach was about to sink upon the thought of Larry still sleeping in the bed that they had bought together, probably with that girl from work that she had daftly enough decided to bring home one evening. "I'm fine, I promise. It's just been a rough patch, but I'm getting over it. I'm only going to stay for a few days, and then I suppose I'll go back and look for a new, smaller flat. That's just life, isn't it?"

Daisy shrugged, which reminded Sybil that the girl wasn't supposed to have the slightest idea of what life was at age eighteen. "Still, I'm sorry. Must've been a hard blow."

"Don't worry," Sybil patted her head like she used to do when the girl was younger, and smiled. "Let's go get some of your Ma's biscuits to celebrate that I'm going to be coming home a lot more often from now on, shall we?"

Daisy beamed. "Sure thing! She just made a fresh batch this morning. With chocolate chips and everything!"

The girl took Sybil's hand and ushered her downstairs, a joyful smile on her face. That was Daisy — ever the optimist, the little girl whose love of Downton and cooking and the older children that she had grown up with would never quite fade. Thomas usually feigned annoyance towards her generally bubbly nature, but she knew that deep down he cared for her just about as much as he did for Sybil.

Once they got to the kitchen, the girl pressed an amused finger to her lips and pointed towards the freshly baked tray of biscuits that rested on the table. Mrs Patmore was nowhere to be seen — probably taking a nap after having prepared dinner for Sybil's parents — and the chauffeur was in the garage getting Lord Grantham's official car fixed, so the two of them sat at the table just like they did when they were little girls and took a few of the biscuits, a devilish smile on their lips.

"You sure Mrs Patmore won't mind?" Sybil asked as she sunk her teeth into the first one. God, she had almost forgotten how good their cook's bakery was.

"Nah, she's done a whole lot of them," Daisy replied. "Prolly will just scold me for eating too much, but that's it."

The two of them spent the following couple of hours catching up with each other's lives. Daisy told Sybil all about this boy at her school, William, who had been her friend all her life but had somehow grown to fancy her, which bothered Daisy to a certain degree because she loved him, but not in that way. She also told Sybil about how she loved cooking but wanted to study Biology at university, and that she was particularly interested in becoming a botanist and having a little cottage of her own where her mother could go live too when she retired. Sybil was happy to see that the girl that had once crawled and learned to walk on the very cobbled floors that lay under their feet was now full of dreams and ambitions, and she found herself itching to know more of what Daisy had planned for herself.

"Well, I think I should go upstairs and say hello to Mama and Papa," she said a while later, glancing at the clock. "It's nearly tea time, and your mother's going to be up any minute anyway. But let's meet up again sometime tomorrow!"

"We could go out tonight," Daisy offered, a half-smile on her face. "I'm eighteen now, and I s'pose Mam won't mind as long as you're with me."

Sybil began to nod, but then remembered that she had already told that man that he met in Ripon that they'd get together that evening.

"I . . . I don't think I can make it tonight, unfortunately, but let's go get brunch tomorrow at that little café near the station!" She offered. When Daisy eyed her curiously, she just shrugged her shoulders. "I told an old friend that I was coming for the weekend and we decided to meet up."

Daisy did a half-smile. "All right, all right. Just let me know how it goes, will you?"

Sybil rolled her eyes as she stood up. "Life's not a Jane Austen novel, Dee." And with that, she pressed a kiss on the top of the girl's head before making her way upstairs, a small smile on her face.

No, life wasn't a Jane Austen novel. Because she had most definitely never written an Irish love interest for any of her heroines.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sybil, my love!"

She adored her father's hugs. He was an affectionate, warm man, and she had undoubtedly inherited her borderline worrying need of physically interacting with every single person that she felt comfortable with from him. So she just hugged him tightly in return and allowed herself to smile as her father's arms wrapped tightly around her.

"How are you, Papa?" she asked.

"I'm fine. We're fine — your mother's upstairs, but I'm sure she'll be down in a minute." Robert smiled at the sight of his youngest daughter. She had her mother's impossibly black hair and his blue eyes, and he had always loved how she seemed to be a perfect mixture of the two of them. "But how come you're here, darling? How come you didn't call? We would have asked Anna to get your room ready and sent Moseley to fetch you at the station. Or I would have been there myself! Where's your luggage . . . ?"

"Don't worry, Papa," she said, placing her hands on top of his and squeezing them ever so lightly. "I — it was more of a last minute decision, really, I wasn't planning on coming until the holidays. But I needed some time off, so I decided Downton was the ideal place for me to have a little escapade from the big city."

"We're always happy to have you, Sybil," Robert nodded. When he noticed how his daughter's lip twitched, however, he frowned lightly. "Is anything the matter, my dear?"

"Well . . . I thought I'd tell you and Mama when she came downstairs," Sybil began, averting her gaze from her father's. "Larry and I are not together anymore, Papa, and I've been staying at Thomas's for the past couple of weeks because I couldn't wrap my head around it. I didn't want to bother Mary and Edith, either, so that's why I decided to come here."

His father's face scrunched up in surprise, but Sybil felt comforted by the fact that he didn't let go of her hands. "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry. I really am. Granted, that Larry boy wasn't exactly the best of fellows, but still . . . "

Now it was Sybil's turn to scrunch her face up in surprise, in a gesture identical to her father's. "What do you mean? I thought you liked Larry. You always took him hunting and offered him to work with you and everything."

"Well, yes, I liked him well enough," Robert reasoned. "But only because I thought _you_ liked him, even though we all did think he wasn't exactly your type. I remember Mary once said that she had always pictured you dating a far-left politician who would try and bring our entire estate down once you brought him home."

Sybil did a half-smile as her mind briefly darted back to the blond-haired man that she had met back in Ripon earlier that day.

"Well, I suppose you're right," she conceded finally, shrugging lightly. "It just took me a bit of time to figure out what I wanted, that's all." _That and finding Larry in bed with someone else, but let's just spare Papa the details of it_.

Robert sighed and embraced his youngest yet again. "In any case, I'm glad you're home. You can stay for as long as you need, obviously — your mother and I will be more than happy to have you, and I'm sure your Granny will be more than excited to see you. It's been a quite dull couple of months, with Mary and Matthew being so busy, but at least Edith and Marigold visited the other weekend . . . did you know that she's seeing someone from the newspaper? He did sound like an exceptionally nice chap. Your mother can't wait to meet him."

"Yes, Herbert. He's such a sweet man, Papa, I'm sure you'll love him," Sybil said brightly. She had gotten to meet him a little earlier that month, when she popped up at Edith's with a gift for little Marigold and found the tall blond man making a risotto in her sister's kitchen. "Marigold seems to love him, too."

"Well, Edith deserves nothing less than a man half as good as she is." Robert smiled fondly, as he usually did while referring to one of his three daughters. "But yes, it'll be nice to meet him when the time comes. I'll tell her to bring him home for Christmas."

Sybil smiled at the idea of the traditional family gathering that was held on Christmas Eve, with her nieces and nephews trotting around the living room excitedly as they waited for Father Christmas to come and getting to chat with Matthew and her sisters for a bit. Even if it meant coming on her own for the first time in well over five years, she still looked very much forward to it.

"So what are you going to do while you're here?" Her father asked, a kind smile on his face as he took a seat on the sofa and patted his side, motioning for her to sit next to him.

Sybil shrugged, briefly thinking back to the young Irishman that she was supposed to meet up with in a few hours. "Well, I'm not sure. I brought a book with me, and I hoped to spend some time with you and Mama and Granny and catch up with Daisy and the rest of the staff and . . . well, that's about it, really. I'm meeting an old friend at the pub tonight, but I'm sure I'll be back in no time."

Lord Grantham's eyebrows rose. Sybil hadn't been one to have a very extensive group of friends growing up — she was extroverted and generous, and most of her classmates liked her well enough, but she had only ever been genuinely close to Thomas and her two older sisters, aside from her Cambridge roommate, Gwen, who became one of her closest friends over the course of the only year that she spent there.

"A friend?" He asked. "Do you want Moseley to drive you there? He's been unusually busy as of lately, but I think I can send him a text message if you need him . . . "

"A text message? Papa, I thought you didn't do those," Sybil laughed, shaking her head as she took a seat next to him. "But no, really, I can drive. I'll take Mary's car."

"All right then. Just be sure to come home before Carson goes to bed, all right? He worries a lot when you three go out at night."

"Papa, I'm twenty-five, and my sisters are twenty-seven and thirty. Why should he _worry_ about us at this point of his life?"

"He will never stop worrying about you," her father smiled. "And neither will I, for that matter. Just be safe, my love."

"Yes, Papa, I will." She hugged him yet again and rested her head on his shoulder, not unlike she had done with Thomas the previous day. "It's really great to be back."

"And we're glad you decided to come, my little one," he nodded, pressing a kiss on the top of her head as he rubbed her shoulder in a comforting manner. "We're here for you."

"I know, Papa."

"And I'm sure Matthew will be more than willing to go find Larry and beat him to a pulp if you deem it necessary."

"Papa!"

"All right, all right, we'll keep it at a moral support level then."

She spent the rest of the afternoon with her parents, happily chatting about how big the children were getting and how exceptionally bright Matthew's career in Law was turning out to be, with her mother constantly reminding her of paying a visit to good old Doctor Clarkson as soon as she could because of how he was the one who oriented her when she realized she wanted to be a nurse and was so very fond of her, and that her Granny would probably stop by for lunch the following day. She bid them goodbye with kisses and ample smiles, with her insides warm enough from all the tea and the prospect of spending a few days with her family, and then went upstairs to get changed — she didn't want to look _too _dressed up, so she changed into a polka-dotted dark blue dress and a red headband, with her favourite Doc Martens and a Van Gogh tote bag to complete her look. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and wondered why she had never really thought of taking all those clothes with her to London after university — probably because Larry always liked it better when she wore fancier pieces of clothing, and she had slowly convinced herself that her trade vintage style had been nothing but a part of her university years and that an adult woman would never dress that way.

She couldn't help but think, as she closed the front door of the house behind her, that the new Sybil — that is to say, the _old_ Sybil who had woken up after having been repressed for many years — liked her Doc Martens and her museum tote bags and her bright red headbands first, and men second.

She got to the pub a little earlier than she had expected, so instead of waiting outside she simply took a seat at a table and ordered the first beer of the night. She glanced around and did a faint smile — it was busier now, being a Saturday evening. A few groups of teenagers were scattered all through the pub, beers in their hands and bright smiles on their faces, and slightly older people could be found sitting at the tables or by the counter. She observed how a boy, who must have been a couple of years younger than her, pressed kisses all over a girl's face, both of them giggling and a little too drunk to realize that what they were doing was only slightly inappropriate. She smiled, and thought that she and Larry had never done those things, in public or in private — and, being the hopeless romantic she was, she found herself wishing that they had.

Or at least, that they'd ever felt half as intoxicated with each other as the younger couple in front of her seemed to be right then.

"Penny for your thoughts, missus?"

She looked up to find Tom smiling broadly at her. The man had a beer in his hand and wore the same outfit than earlier that day — light blue shirt, jeans, walking boots. There was something really captivating about his eyes, she realized as he took a seat in front of her — they were a bright green, like freshly mowed lawn or all those paintings of Ireland that she had marvelled at when her father took her to the National Gallery for the first time at age eight, while her mother and sisters went shopping.

"How's your day been?" He asked before taking a seat in front of her, the smile not quite fading off his face just yet.

"Well . . . it's been really nice, honestly," she answered with a little shrug. It pained her not to be able to talk about her father and how they had widely discussed his donation to the refugee camp and how incredibly proud she was of him and his decisions in spite of also agreeing to Tom's point of view, but she decided to ignore the matter just for a little longer. "My parents were lovely — I missed them so much, honestly. Then I also got to see this old friend of mine — she's like a little sister to me because we practically grew up together, and we basically just caught up with each other's lives and chatted for a bit while eating biscuits, which was great too."

"Sounds like a terrific evening," he chuckled, nodding his head. "I went off to interview that Earl of Grantham bloke that I told you about earlier — it wasn't too bad, honestly, he had a sense of humour and told me about how one of his daughters would absolutely agree with my point of view on the matter. But you know, I think he was still glad to see me go, even if he was polite enough all through the interview. So I just came back here and took a stroll around the town for the rest of the afternoon, which was nice. Kind of reminds me of Ireland, which is always a good thing."

Sybil smiled, both at his last comment and the fact that her father had mentioned her during an interview with the man that she was now on a date with.

Wait, was this a _date_?

"Well, it _is_ a really nice town," she agreed. "I didn't visit it that often growing up because I went to a countryside school, but I always loved it when my mum brought us over for some shopping."

"Oh, _shopping_. How absolutely thrilling," Tom joked, shaking his head. He then took a sip from his beer before adding, "So you live in London now, right?"

"Yup. Studied Nursing at the University of York, then moved there shortly afterwards for my first job and sort of just stayed there after that. I work at Whittington Hospital, near Finsbury Park, but I started off at this little clinic just by Clapham Junction."

"Clapham! God, I used to live there back when I first moved to London." Sybil couldn't help but notice the way Tom's eyes seemed to smile along with the rest of his face as he spoke. "It was fairly nice, to be honest, but it was _ages_ away from the office, so I just ended up moving again. I'm near Camden now."

"That's great! Camden's lovely." Sybil nodded, trying not to think of the fact that she didn't actually have a flat of her own in London right then. She would have to ring Mary and ask her for some advice, she reckoned before downing what remained of her beer. "I — I used to live near Blackfriars. You know, fancy stuff."

"Jolly, how could you even _afford_ that?" The young man's eyebrows rose in admiration.

"I . . . well, my boyfriend works at the HSBC headquarters, so. Splitting the rent was easy enough." She did an embarrassed smile, shrugging her shoulders.

Tom paused, his brow furrowing ever so lightly. "Oh. So there's a boyfriend."

Sybil's eyebrows rose in surprise. "No, no!" She replied quickly. "Well, not now, anyway. We broke up a couple of weeks ago — that's why I decided to come home for the weekend, honestly. I've been crashing at my best friend's for a couple of weeks, but I gathered it'd be best to give him and his boyfriend a break from me complaining about them being too loud while having sex."

She almost grinned at the hearty laugh that escaped Tom's lips after that — half amused, half relieved because there _was_ no boyfriend to worry about after all.

"Well, good to know." There was a half-smile on the Irishman's lips, and Sybil couldn't help but grin in return. However, his expression seemed to sober up as he finished his beer. "May I ask what happened between you two? We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, though. We can just move on to talking shite about Londoners and their insufferable way of life."

Sybil found herself laughing and shaking her head before ordering two more beers for them. "No, it's all right, really." She shrugged her shoulders a little. "I . . . well, I guess we were never supposed to last. I started seeing him because our mutual friends thought we'd be a good match, and we sort of were for a while, but . . . I don't know, I couldn't have built an entire life with someone as oblivious to politics and low-key sexist as him. It wasn't a blatant thing, though — it's not like he refused to make dinner or complained about me not being home enough. But he was . . . well, really _subtly_ sexist, and would always complain about me and my sisters going to Women's March and taking my nieces and nephews with us, and about how — and I'm quoting him on this — 'the feminist agenda is taking over the world'. Not to mention the fact that I caught him in bed with one of my colleagues from work."

Tom's eyebrows had begun to rise as she delved into the intricacies of her relationship with Larry, an attentive look in his eyes and an understanding nod supporting her views every now and then. Sybil almost felt surprised at the ease with which she explained the whole situation — there was no remorse in her words and no pain in her explanations, and she even found herself laughing at the way Larry had gone on a full-on protest campaign when he found out that there was going to be an all-female _Ghostbusters_ remake. Tom's laughter made her feel secure, understood, and for a second she found herself marvelling at the way his eyes shone when he was happy or at the dimples that appeared on his cheeks whenever he grinned.

"What an arse," he declared finally, shaking his head. "But hey, at least you're free and good to go now, aren't you? You've got a steady job and a family who supports you, and I'm sure your friends in London will be there for you too. It's going to be fine."

"I hope so, yes." Sybil did a faint smile, secretly hoping that the Irishman that she had only just met would join the circle of acquaintances after that night. "I'm honestly happy to be here tonight, with you, listening to some cheesy Ed Sheeran song while drinking a beer."

Tom scoffed, shaking his head as he took another sip from his beer. "_Please_ don't tell me you like Ed Sheeran."

"He's all right, I suppose," countered Sybil, shrugging her shoulders with an amused expression. She was beginning to feel a little tipsy — in a good, liberating sort of way, obviously. "Why don't _you _like him, though? He sings about, well, Irish people and stuff."

Tom's eyebrows rose with vague hint of condescendence, mixed with an amused gesture that gradually took over the rest of his face as Sybil began swaying to the rhythm of the music. "_Irish people and stuff_. I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean."

Sybil stuck her tongue out at him, shaking her head. "Well, he does give you lot some good rep, doesn't he?"

Tom couldn't help but laugh at that. "Having some English guy sing corny songs about Irish girls is hardly what I'd call _good rep_, Sybil."

"Whatever," she snorted, and then offered him her hand as she stood up. "Let's dance, shall we?"

"Really, Sybil?" He looked around, only to find a few of the tipsier teenagers swaying to the music already, just like Sybil did right in front of him. He chuckled, shaking his head ever so lightly, and then downed his beer before standing up and taking her hand. "I can't believe you, honestly."

Sybil just grinned and pulled him close — to which Tom didn't offer much resistance, to be entirely honest — and placed her hands on his shoulders, the young Irishman looking visibly amused by the way she hummed the lyrics as they swayed back and forth and how she outright sang the chorus from the bottom of her heart when the time came. But he didn't complain, not once, because she didn't stop grinning and dancing and laughing until well after the song was over — and when it _was_ over she simply pulled him close, the top of her head rubbing against his cheek, almost as though they'd been made to graze each other sooner or later.

And, if only for a fleeting moment, everything felt absolutely all right.

"Well, that _was_ sort of fun after all," he whispered finally, a small smile spreading across his lips and not quite letting go of her just yet.

"I told you," Sybil said, digging her index finger into his chest as she feigned a reproachful look. However, they both soon dissolved back into laughter and mindless dancing, Tom's hands resting on Sybil's hips and her hands occasionally grazing his neck. Then, only slightly sobered up and feeling as though something fluttered at the bottom of her stomach, Sybil stood on her tiptoes and whispered into Tom's ear, "Do you want to go outside?"

Tom grinned and nodded immediately. "Sure thing."

Sybil grinned in return when he took her hand in his and waved goodbye to a very amused-looking bartender before going outside. It was chilly and obviously much later than Sybil thought at first. The streets were completely empty and every single light — except for the old pub's — had already been shut down until the following morning. Her parents, she thought absently, must have already gone to bed, too — Mr Carson might still be up when she came back, but that was about it.

_If_ she came back, that is. Because she didn't quite feel like letting go of Tom Branson's hand just yet.

They strolled around for a few minutes, still hand in hand and a little too tipsy to engage in a serious conversation, exchanging ideas on Emmeline Pankhurst, Viriginia Woolf, Brexit and 'those bloody Tories', as Sybil gently put it before bursting into laughter. When they reached the end of the town, however, Tom wheeled around to face her and offered her a half-smile.

"So, d'you want me to take you home or . . . ?" There was an amused edge to his words, which made Sybil smile, too.

"Well, I'm fine with staying a little longer if you are," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. Her fingertips brushed against Tom's, and she bit her lip before impulsively adding, "Besides, I drove here. My house's . . . in the countryside, you know."

"Yes, you told me earlier." She felt how a chill ran up her spine as Tom placed a gentle hand on her side, not unlike he had when they danced together a few minutes earlier. But there was an entirely different feeling to it this time — it was more intimate, more _sober_. She looked up into his big green eyes and found herself smiling yet again, not quite believing how willing she was to spend hours on end with him despite having only met him earlier that day.

"I — Tom," she said gently, placing her hand on top of his. "There's something you should know about me."

Tom's eyebrows rose questioningly, the amused look in his face not quite fading just yet. "What? Are you an undercover MI6 agent or something like that?"

"I wish," she snorted, shaking her head, before fiddling with the hem of her dress in an absentminded manner. "I . . . well, I should have told you right from the beginning, but . . ." she glanced down briefly. "I'm Lord Grantham's youngest daughter. You know, the one he said would probably agree with your point of view on his — _our_ — family fortune. I know it's horrible and I know I shouldn't have kept that away from you, and I'll completely understand if you want to leave me here and go back to the inn, but God, I just really liked you and I couldn't bring myself to . . ." Her brow furrowed when she realized that a grin had spread across Tom's face. "What?"

"You really liked me," he echoed, a childish smile playing on his lips.

Sybil felt how her cheeks turned red. "Well, yes, that's what I said. But honestly, I just want you to know that I'm deeply sorry and that I — "

But she never got to finish the sentence, because Tom Branson leaned towards her and silenced her with a kiss.

It was soft, yet urgent; filled with desire, yet tender. Sybil had never kissed anyone that way since she was a teenager — but then again, her love life had consisted of mindless sex and occasional cuddling with Larry for a good part of the last five years, and she had never really thought of the possibility of enjoying something as simple as a _kiss_. And yet there she was, feeling how her insides churned with desire and her heart raced against her chest as her fingers gently dug into Tom's hair and pulled him closer, smiling against his lips when they broke off the kiss a minute later, their breath hitched and their cheeks a blotchy red.

"So . . . you don't mind that I'm an upper class snob?" she asked tentatively, her nose rubbing against his ever so gently.

Tom snorted and shook his head lightly. "I honestly wouldn't give a flying _fuck_ if you'd told me you were the Queen's long-lost granddaughter."

"Heavens, no. That family is completely _insufferable_," she joked, shaking her head.

Tom's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You've actually _met _them?"

She shrugged, flashing a cheeky smile towards him. "I'm the daughter of an Earl, Tom Branson. What did you expect?"

He just shook his head and laughed, which made Sybil think that she could easily grow accustomed to hearing the sound of his laughter every day. Larry had never laughed in such a natural, organic way, and there was something about the way Tom's eyes gleamed when he was at ease that made her insides churn.

"What have I just gotten myself into," he mumbled to himself, feigning a sigh. "I really do hope I don't get my Socialist Party membership taken away from me for this."

Sybil had never laughed so hard before diving into a kiss.


End file.
